looking for your moment

Noss · 07-05-2011, 11:21 PM

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Sorry for the fail-post >.<

Noss was quite honestly a very confused man. Oh, he had the tough facade of the warrior--and the look to boot--but he was quite clueless in many areas that did not involve battle or the art of it. He had been walking the territory that day for the sheer purpose of contemplating the obstacle before him--mateship. Courting his chosen mate was a tad difficult in itself in that he was no longer in the Moon Tribe--the rituals that he would've undergone there probably had no weight in his new home. Not to mention he knew Strel to be far more refined than a simple ritual. If any male had performed a ritual like he had been taught in the Moon Tribe, he would not even have to had spoken to the female to get it to work; she need only accept the three gifts given to her. But Strel was not so simple; far from it. And that was what puzzled the grey man so. He loved the red-headed tailor, but truly courting was a totally different direction than the straightforward, aggressive methods he had already employed

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The wicker of horses caught his attention, bringing him to go near a fenced area within the territory. He had grown intimately accustomed to the boundaries and land, so he no longer required assistance with the navigation about it, and he was surprised to see that he was growing increasingly more apt at interacting between his pack mates--a feat not many would've once considered doable. To prove it, he spotted a young wolf off to the side along the fence who reminded Noss very much of a raccoon. Despite this, his nose wrinkled at the scent of dominance. It was not emanating because of the boy's persona--quite the contrary, he seemed to be meek--but it was certainly because of his rank. Sometimes it irked Noss that he was older than many of these wolves and yet they outranked him, but he had long ago swallowed that pride and resigned himself to accepting his new role in life. It was not bad at all, he found. "Those are fine horses," he said gruffly as he walked up to the other male, not really making eye contact with the wolf but looking at the three horses as the other was. "The stallion has good muscle tone." It was just small talk, but Noss could truly appreciate a fine horse. He had once ridden them for scouting and war parties, but it had mostly been a single stallion that had been large enough--a behemoth almost--to carry Noss's muscley weight. That black stallion was long since left behind in his birth pack, and although Noss would miss him, there was no use crying over spilled milk.

Warrior walks. ”Warrior talks.” Warrior thinks.

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